


Love bites (but so do you)

by Chiyume



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Light Pain Play, M/M, Modern Bucky Barnes, Nipple Play, Non-Penetrative Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 00:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume
Summary: Seriously, Bucky only bought the shirt because Steve had made heart eyes at the mere mention of him wearing it. Now he’s here, wearing the damn thing even though it’s the most uncomfortable thing he’s ever been forced into in his life, and Steve’s not even looking. The bastard.In which Bucky tries to get Steve's attention by wearing a new article of clothing, but fails to take the rough texture of his new shirt in combination with the sensitivity of his nipples into his brilliant plan.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the lovely [ellie-nors](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flamewarrior/pseuds/ellie-nors) <3 
> 
> I blame this fic on the people in the Captain America Reverse Big Bang chat (you know who you are).

Bucky growls – actually  _ growls  _ – as he pulls at the fabric covering his chest, for what has to be the millionth time in less than ten minutes. Goddamn cheap-ass clothing. This is the  _ last  _ time he’ll ever buy a polo shirt, no matter  _ how  _ sexy Steve think they are!

Bucky is willing to admit that, all right, so they do look pretty hot, and the fit is as good as any, but the _ material…!  _ The frickin thing  _ itches. _ Only, it doesn’t itch all over, like a decent article of clothing would have the good sense to do, oh, no. Instead, the only area that seems to be affected by the rough texture of the fabric is Bucky’s chest.

More specifically, his nipples.

Bucky knows that nipple chafing is a thing. You don’t go running with Sam and Steve every single morning for three weeks straight without learning about  _ that  _ pretty damn quickly. Still, when he did that, he’d worn proper running gear, with soft cotton shirts.  _ This _ chafing? It’s is on an entirely different, new, and  _ excruciating _ level of rawness. 

He huffs, and pulls at the shirt again, but with the same lack of result. He glares at Steve from the corner of his eye; Steve, who’s got his nose buried into a book over in the reading chair next to the couch, and he doesn’t seem to be the slightest bit concerned about the torture currently endured by his beloved, bionic partner.

Seriously, Bucky only bought the shirt because Steve had made heart eyes at the mere mention of him wearing it. Now he’s here, wearing the damn thing even though it’s the most uncomfortable thing he’s ever been forced into in his life, and Steve’s not even  _ looking _ . The bastard.

Bucky rubs over his chest with a grimace, hissing under his breath when the coarse texture of the shirt drags over his over-sensitized nipples, and yeah, no, he can’t do this. He stands up from the couch with a frustrated groan, but he only gets two-or-so steps across the room before Steve suddenly speaks up.

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t even look up when he says it, and Bucky turns back around, rolling his eyes to the ceiling with an exaggerated sigh.

_ “This,” _ he says testily, while yanking at the front of his shirt with both hands. “ _ This _ is what’s wrong!”   

Finally, Steve looks up. He gives Bucky’s front a nonchalant glance up and down, before settling his gaze on the way Bucky’s nipples are poking against the fabric, hard and clearly visible even from Steve’s spot in the chair.

“Looks good to me,” he offers calmly, and Bucky lets out an exasperated,  _ “Guh!” _ as he grabs for his hair with both hands.

“I don’t  _ care  _ what it looks like,” he announces sharply. “It’s what it  _ feels  _ like that’s the problem.” He pulls the shirt out again, giving his sore nipples a moment of relief. “Seriously, how can you stand these things?”

“They’re comfortable?” Steve says. He’s put the book down now, and he’s looking at Bucky with a clear interest in his eyes that Bucky quite frankly thinks is a bit annoying.

“They  _ hurt. _ ” Bucky corrects sternly. He groans again, turning back around to head for the door, even as he reaches down to pull the offensive garment over his head. “I’m taking it off,” he announces, “and then I’m gonna drench it in gasoline and  _ burn  _ the fucking—”

That’s about as far as he gets.

Before he can end the sentence, he’s grabbed from behind and spun around. His breath gets knocked out of his chest when Steve, the speedy bastard, shoves him up against the wall next to the doorway. Steve also uses the opening to push himself into the space between Bucky’s parted legs while bracing himself with his left hand against the wall next to Bucky’s head. With his right, he grasps around the edge of Bucky’s hip through his jeans, strong and unyielding, his breath hot on Bucky’s lips.

“Come on now,” Steve murmurs, dragging his lips against the stubble on Bucky’s chin, “is it really that bad?” 

“The fuck you think?” Bucky grumbles. The words come out a bit fiercer than he had intended, but Steve doesn’t seem to care.

“I think,” Steve drawls at the same time as he presses in even closer, “that you happen to look mighty swell in that thing.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Bucky retorts. “But I’m still taking it off, so if you don’t mind…”

He moves to push Steve out of the way, but as he brings his left arm up to shove at the other man’s shoulder, Steve grabs him by the wrist and pins it to the wall next to Bucky's hip with a smirk. 

Bucky goes still.

He knows the expressions of Steve’s face better than the back of his own hand, and he definitely knows  _ that _ smirk when he sees it. It sends a shiver down his spine that makes the small mechanical parts in his arm whirr, and Steve’s smile widens.

Bucky can feel Steve squeeze around his hip, and then Steve slowly brings his hand up and rubs his palm over the two peaks on Bucky’s chest. Bucky hisses, twitching violently, but there’s no space for him to curl away from the touch with the wall already flat against his back. It sends sparks shooting through his veins, nerve endings already raw and sensitive beneath the pressure of Steve’s hand, and Bucky hears himself whimper before he’s able to stop the noise from escaping his throat.

“Does this hurt?” Steve murmurs, and Bucky nods. Steve doesn’t stop rubbing, though, and Bucky tips his head back against the wall with a loud thump, gritting his teeth when Steve slows to simply circle his thumb over Bucky’s clothed left nipple. 

“Does it turn you on?”

The question is followed by a light pinch, and Bucky swallows down a groan as he nods again. He hears Steve hum, and then Steve latches his lips onto the side of Bucky’s neck, sucking gently. Bucky moans. His left arm drones sleepily as he balls his still-caught hand into a fist by his side, and he lets his eyes slip closed at the same time as Steve brings his own hand back down. Bucky tenses when he feels fingers slip under the hem of his shirt, and Steve hums again as he scratches blunt fingernails up Bucky’s abs, pushing the shirt up as he goes.

It’s slow, and Bucky squirms when Steve halts halfway to let the shirt drop back down to drag over Bucky’s skin once again. Ignoring Bucky’s sounds of frustration, he repeats the process three or four times before he tires of it. By the time he moves to hoist the shirt all the way up, Bucky is already hard and aching inside his jeans.

“Oh, would you look at that…” Steve breathes, as if in wonder when the hemline finally drags past the tips of Bucky’s nipples. There’s a moment of silence before Bucky feels the pad of Steve’s finger ghost against his skin, provoking a gasp and a shiver. Then Steve is tugging the shirt all the way up underneath Bucky’s armpits with a decisive tuck that has Bucky peeking his eyes open to look up at him from underneath his lashes.

“You keep those arms nice and tight now,” Steve instructs, “or the shirt’ll fall down again.” He reaches down to grab around Bucky’s other wrist as well, and then gives both limbs a light push back so that Bucky has to spread his palms flat against the wall behind him, “And you don’t want that to happen, do you?”

“No, sir,” Bucky rasps, voice shaking. He has no idea why he says it like that, with the ‘sir’ at the end, but Steve rewards him with another one of those wicked smirks that makes Bucky’s skin tingle in all the right ways, so it must have been a good choice. Bucky watches as Steve lets him go in order to take a slow step back and look him up and down, regarding his handiwork. Steve’s hard, and Bucky can see where his erection is pressing up against his sweatpants, causing them to tent below his waistline. The sight makes Bucky’s fingers itch with a need to touch, but he keeps them where they are, obediently pressed against the wall while waiting for Steve to make the next move.

It’s hard to keep his breathing steady when Steve slowly reaches out to slide the fingertips of both hands up the centre of Bucky’s torso, from his belly button all the way up to his collarbone, and then back down.

Steve has  _ that  _ look in his eye again. It’s the same one he gets when he’s about to start a new drawing. Just before he makes the first stroke of his pencil: studying his canvas before going to work on it, stroke by delicate stroke.

It’s a look that will forever send Bucky’s heart racing inside his chest. Always has. 

When Steve drags his hands back up again, Bucky’s breath stutters, and instantly, Steve’s gaze shifts. It turns sharp, losing some of its dreamlike state as it lands on Bucky’s face, just as his fingers comes to a halt a mere inch shy of Bucky’s nipples.

“You want me to touch you, Buck?” Steve asks, voice low, and Bucky straightens up, bracing himself when Steve reaches down with his right hand in order to cup him through his jeans. 

“Yes,” he answers simply. Steve looks at him, holding his gaze for a few seconds, before stepping up so close his clothed chest nearly presses in against Bucky’s exposed one. 

“You sure?” he whispers. He angles his head and presses a line of light, fluttering kisses along Bucky’s jaw line, all the way from his chin to his ear. “Because I don’t know if you’re ready for it yet,” he breathes, nipping at Bucky’s earlobe. “I think…you need a little more time to get yourself riled up properly.” 

Bucky bites back a groan as Steve takes the hand away from his groin, and then Steve’s moving, sliding his lips down along the column of Bucky’s throat. He nudges the collar of Bucky’s infuriating shirt to the side with his nose to kiss the little notch between Bucky’s collarbones, before making a leap from there to the top of Bucky’s pecs, where he bites down a little on the thick muscle and makes Bucky gasp.

Bucky looks on, and even though his field of vision is partially disrupted by the bunched up shirt, he still has a clear view of Steve when the other man slides his mouth down to drag his lips in a lazy swipe over the tip of the nipple in his way.

Normally, the touch would have been barely noticeable, but now, Bucky’s skin is already puffed up and tender from the shirt’s abuse, which gives the sensation an entirely different edge. It sparks, hot and blinding through his body, and as the muscles of his chest clench, it causes the nipple to jerk against Steve’s lips, which instantly produces another spark just like the first.

Bucky’s nipples have always been sensitive. God knows Steve’s taken advantage of that on more than one occasion in the past, but there’s more to it than that this time, and they both know it. Steve  _ lives  _ for the moments when he gets to drive Bucky out of his mind with frustration, just like this, when he can exploit this particular weakness until Bucky is nearly sobbing for Steve to let him take the edge off. For Steve to touch him  _ properly. _

It’s torture, of the sweet, slow burning kind, and Bucky  _ loves _ it.   

As Steve begins to lick, and suck, and mouth on his nipples, switching from one side to the other every other turn, Bucky sags against the wall with a ragged moan, squeezing his eyes shut. He gasps when Steve blows softly over the skin, cooling the saliva left behind by his mouth. It’s soothing, but it also makes the sensation so much stronger when Steve wraps his lips around it once more, repeating the process over and over, hot growing cold, growing hot once again.

Bucky knows that he’s whining, but he doesn’t care. His fingers – flesh and metal alike –  are scratching against the wall, and he’s shaking so hard, it makes his breath tremble. His left arm keeps whirring, high pitched buzzing sounds rising from the mechanics whenever a particularly vicious shiver curls through his limbs. He’s humping the seam of his zipper, but the friction is nowhere near enough, and Steve, the bastard, knows it. 

That’s why he doesn’t stop. That’s why he just keeps going, sucking the flushed tips of Bucky’s nipples in between his lips to nibble at them with his teeth, rolling them with his tongue. Every single touch sends lightning flashing to Bucky’s groin and causes him to twitch inside his pants. 

He whimpers when Steve flicks his tongue over Bucky’s right nipple, and then he goes rigid all over when Steve clamps his teeth down over the flesh in his mouth and  _ tugs. _

“Fuck…!” Bucky gasps. His hips jerk, knees buckling, and it feels like his heart nearly comes flying out through his ribcage when Steve straightens up to latch his mouth over Bucky’s own with a low snarl. He chokes a little on his own moan when Steve shoves his tongue between his lips, kissing him deep and hungrily. It’s a good kiss, a strong kiss, and Bucky gasps right into it when he feels fingers close around both his nipples to tease and roll them slowly.

“Wanna help out a little here, Buck?” Steve mouths against his bottom lip at the same time as he rocks his evident hard-on against Bucky’s thigh. Bucky nods eagerly, and he somehow manages to fumble the elastics of Steve’s sweatpants down far enough to get a hold of his erection with his right hand. Steve hisses into his mouth when Bucky begins to stroke, still with his elbow pressed in tight against his side to hold the stupid shirt in place, and then Steve moans, deepening the kiss once more.

Bucky rocks his hips forward, whimpering from the lack of friction against his own cock even as he rubs his thumbs over the head of Steve’s in his hand. God, he wants… Jesus Christ, he wants everything! Steve’s hands are magic, they truly are, but they’re not  _ enough. _

“Steve…” he whines. “Steve, please, let me…” 

“You need somethin’, babe?” Steve drawls smugly, chuckling while biting at the corner of Bucky’s mouth when Bucky slumps down the wall far enough to press his pelvis against the edge of Steve’s hip with a keening noise. “You want in on this too?”

“Yes,” Bucky hisses. “Yes, please, I’m gonna fucking— Steve, dammit, I can’t take it.”

“Shhh…” Steve shushes him softly, and Bucky clamps his mouth shut, biting his lower lip when Steve moves his hands down to slowly undo the top button of Bucky’s fly and shove his hand inside the opening. “I’ve got ya, Buck,” Steve whispers, “just like always. Don’t you worry…”

Bucky nods, swallowing down another groan, and then Steve has to actually push him back up against the wall when Bucky’s legs give out from underneath him when Steve begins to stroke. The thumb of Steve’s other hand is still drawing lazy little circles around Bucky’s right nipple, and the combination makes Bucky’s mind nearly spin off its axis with how good it feels.

It doesn’t last for long, however, because the moment Steve’s gotten Bucky’s cock out of his pants, he lets him go, just as fast.

“Nuh-uh,” Steve scolds when Bucky tries to chase after his hand when Steve pulls back. “Not this time, sweetheart.  _ This _ time…” he says, slotting up as close to Bucky’s body as he can, making Bucky’s fingers bump against Bucky’s cock as he juts his hips forward. “You get to do the honors.”

Bucky nearly laughs, but his snorted chuckle morphs into a dirty groan when Steve rubs up against him again, intention evident and clear. And really, who is Bucky to say no?

He lifts his thumb and takes both of them in his hand, pushing them together. He can tell by the way Steve’s breath stutters that it’s an action much appreciated, and he doesn’t waste any time in resuming his work stroking them both.

For a moment, the tables seem to turn at that. Just a split second where Steve falls forward, boneless against Bucky’s body with his head pushing down against Bucky’s shoulder, and moaning under his breath. It’s a lovely image, but the arousal it awakens in Bucky’s blood is nothing compared to the one that flares up when Steve suddenly  _ growls _ against his skin.

Bucky cries out, choked and startled when Steve gets both palms back on his chest, rubbing and squeezing hard over his pecs and grabbing handfuls of them, while thrusting steadily into the space between Bucky’s cock and fist. When the mindless groping turns focused, Bucky knows he won’t be able to last for long. Steve rolls his nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, pinching and tweaking them without stopping. Each and every move steals the breath out of Bucky’s lungs, and his body has taken up a rhythm of its own, syncing with the slow rocking of Steve’s pelvis and bringing them both closer to the edge.

Bucky’s nipples are turning sore. They sting and pulse, skin raw, but it still feels so  _ good _ , and Steve’s touch is the only thing that matters as Bucky feels the heat pool in the pit of his stomach, churning and whirling faster with every delicious twinge of his skin.

“Steve…” he manages. His voice shakes so hard he barely gets the name out in once piece. His body jerks, and next thing, a soft sob trips past his lips, followed by a breathless moan when Steve pinches his nipples hard, holding the grip. “Steve…! Oh, shit… Oh, fuck, baby…!”

“Yeah,” Steve half-breathes, half-hisses out against the corner of Bucky’s mouth. Easing up on the grip, he begins to tickle the pads of his thumbs over the bruised buds, barely touching them at all, and fuck, Bucky nearly  _ blacks out. _ The touch has him squirming, helplessly caught. His arm whirrs, and the spaces between the metal plates snap closed with a vicious  _ zing  _ when his brain tries to tell muscles that are no longer there to tighten up. Just like that, it’s over, it’s all over, and Bucky knows it.

“Steve,” he whimpers. He opens his mouth to say something else, maybe to say his partner’s name one last time, but he doesn’t get to. The syllable of whatever word his pleasure-hazed mind tried to come up with morphs into a single breathless,  _ “Oh…!” _ , and then Bucky spills all over his own hand, his cock and Steve’s, in a hot, sticky mess.

He knows that Steve’s watching him through it. Even through the high, he can feel those blue eyes on his skin. Somehow he manages to open his eyes far enough to meet the look in Steve’s eyes, and Steve’s mouth falls open with a groan just a split second before Bucky feels the other man twitch in his hands, just once, and then come.

Steve kisses Bucky then, sloppy and uncoordinated, but it’s still the best damn kiss Bucky’s had in ages. They kiss until Steve slumps against the wall, trapping Bucky in the space between with a sated groan, and Bucky closes his eyes again. Slowly, he uncurls the fingers of his left hand, and the relays in his arm buzz and hiss when the plating slides back into its original place. 

“Fuck…” he pants. He doesn’t know what else to say, but Steve still hums in agreement while snuggling his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“Undershirts,” he murmurs drowsily. Bucky frowns.

“What?”

“Undershirts,” Steve repeats, louder, but not much more articulate. “That’s how you keep the shirts from chafing.” He leans up and places a lazy, tender kiss to Bucky’s jaw. “We’ll pick some up for you in the morning.”

Bucky considers the offer for a few moments. Then he takes a slow, steady breath, before asking, “And why, if I may ask, didn’t you mention that yesterday when we bought  _ this  _ shirt?”

“Slipped my mind,” Steve says simply, albeit just a little bit too fast, and perhaps also a little bit too innocently for that to be completely true. Bucky decides to let it slide.

After all, the whole point about buying the damn thing had been to get Steve's attention. A mission successfully accomplished, it seems.

Bucky sighs, but he's smiling as he tips his head back to let it thud against the wall one last time. A near century old, and his beloved life-partner is still nothing but a little punk.

Itchy shirts aside, the future sure could have been a lot worse.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3  
> Feel free to let me know what you thought of the story.  
> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


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